You Saw the Whole of the Moon
by hannahsoapy
Summary: Huddled in the dark, next to the dumpster, he tracks her movements involuntarily; she's the only bright spot in sight. She moves with a peculiar grace-her steps almost straight, almost dancing. He's completely mesmerized.
1. I pictured a rainbow (you held it)

A/N: Okay, so I know it's been awhile since I updated anything, and now here's a brand-new thing, and that's really confusing. Well, here's the sitch: I'm in grad school, and it involves a lot of studying. Studying also has the terrible side effect of making writing things really difficult. So, I'm not saying I'm giving up on any of my fics-in-progress, just that I'm writing what I can get my brain to write right now, and it turns out that is… this little fic right here! I hope you all enjoy, and I promise I'm trying to get back around to my other stuff!

*This is meant to fit into my Phil Coulson Is A Squib-verse, but can be read as a standalone*

* * *

The girl seems to be wandering aimlessly down the dirty alley he's sitting in.

She's wearing a long, brightly colored patchwork dress, and no shoes. Her long, blond, wavy hair floats around her body.

Huddled in the dark, next to the dumpster, he tracks her movements involuntarily; she's the only bright spot in sight. She moves with a peculiar grace-her steps almost straight, almost dancing. He's completely mesmerized.

She stops abruptly, in front of him, and looks at him fearlessly.

"You should really be more careful around the Nargles," she says, face perfectly serious.

He doesn't understand what in the world she's saying, but her voice, oh, her voice is the promise of everything soft and warm. He wishes he could listen to it all day.

She's watching him, as if she's expecting an answer, and he panics, and blurts the only thing he can think of, what's been playing in circles in his mind for days.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

He knows she won't know; it's a stupid question to ask her, but she tilts her head a little, like the chilly winter air will tell her the answer.

"I'm not sure," she says finally, and those pale blue orbs catch him fast. "Who is he to you?"

He's falling gently into her eyes, and can't speak for a moment. _He's_ supposed to be Bucky, he realizes, but it's not quite right…

"He's a stranger," he tells her, hoarsely.

The girl smiles at him, like he's told her something special, and holds out her hand.

"Well then, pick something that feels like you," she says. "My name's Luna."

He stares at her hand, pale and glowing, and thinks that is exactly the name that's right for her, perhaps in more ways than physical appearance. He lifts his hand to hers.

"I'm… James," he says, and that's right, too.

"Lovely to meet you, James," she says, shaking his hand gently, as if it might break, even though her slim fingers are dwarfed by his. "Would you like some soup? I've just made some."

James has no idea if he likes soup. Or ever did, or will. But he has a feeling that he'll like anything this girl makes.

"Yeah," he tells her. "That'd be swell."

* * *

Her apartment is as whimsically decorated as her person, and just as colorful. James turns slowly to take it all in. It should be overwhelming, but it's not.

His memory is a collage of black and white, and he craves the colors, the vibrancy, that tells him this is all real.

Luna stands by the stove, ladling soup- or no, she's not. The ladle is doing all the ladling. As he watches, it fills two bowls, and then the bowls float themselves to the table. He glances at Luna with his question in his eyes.

"Magic," she explains with a shrug, smiling at his fascination as the table sets itself. James frowns a little, because something about that word carries something bad with it, in his shattered memories. That word has given him pain before, somehow.

Luna taps one of the spoons on the table with a stick, and it changes, forming a delicate silvery flower.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

James slowly reaches toward it with his metal hand, and cautiously traces the edge of a petal. He nods, slowly, the fear in his head melting beneath Luna's sparkling smile.

He sits, and eats his soup. It's the best soup he can ever remember having (not that it's a high bar, but still).

And she must truly be magic, because he finds himself agreeing to sleep over in her spare room, with no hesitation at all, and then in the morning, when his hand is twisting the doorknob, her sleepy voice from behind him whispers, "Stay."

His hand falls away.

"Okay," he says, and he does.

* * *

Leave a review on your way out! :)


	2. I was grounded (you filled the sky)

A/N: Wow, guys, thank you! I really appreciate all the feedback and love! And thanks to my awesome sister, I have another chapter for you! I'm not planning on this being a very long fic, maybe 5-6 chapters tops, but you never know… My stories have a history of growing plots.

* * *

James has no idea what Luna does for a living. If he had to guess, he'd say artist (a word that makes him remember scattered, half-formed drawings, and the blond man he pulled from the river).

She always seems to be making things. She finger-paints, sews, draws, crochets, makes jewelry and pottery, mixes odd concoctions in little jars, and, frequently, emerges with things he doesn't recognize as anything at all.

If she keeps to a schedule, it's one he can't figure out. Luna goes out at all times of the day, for odd amounts of time, but never more than a few hours. "I'll be back soon," she always promises before she leaves.

She always is, and she always brings things back with her. They usually seem random and insignificant, but they must not be, because everything she brings back ends up in one of her creations, eventually. A pale blue string only a few inches long, he spots later in the edging of some crocheted mittens, a sparkly chunk of colored glass adorns an oddly-shaped teapot, and a long, thin green stick is bent into a shape around a knick-knack he can't make heads or tails of.

A few days after she invited him to stay, she comes in with a breathless smile, and cheeks pink from the cold. At first, James doesn't see anything, but then she opens her hand, and there's a tiny piece of paper. It's perfectly round, like the scraps from inside a paper hole-puncher.

She sets it carefully down on the tabletop, and goes to get her box, the one she keeps all the doodads and curios she finds in. The box looks half as big as Luna is, but she's charmed it to lightness, and she carries it easy as a feather back to the table.

It takes her a while to find what she's looking for, and James watches curiously, from his spot on the sofa as she searches.

He likes watching her work; it calms his brain, and the memories come back more peacefully when Luna's working. She's always humming snatches of things, and he'll zone out, and the memory will play back in disjointed scenes in his head. When he comes back, her eyes are always there to welcome him.

She finally emerges from the box with an amber-colored stone, and some thin leather strips. She sets them to the side, and, picking up a quill, carefully scratches something on the scrap of paper. Then she balances the paper on top of the stone, and taps it with her wand. The little piece of paper sinks into the stone; James can see it, floating in the middle of the amber.

"What's that for?" He can't resist asking. Most of the time her explanations don't make much sense to him, but he likes hearing her talk, anyway.

Luna's doing something with the leather strips, and doesn't look up as she answers.

"It's for you."

"What?" He says, confused. Luna glances at him, her blue eyes piercing.

"For your dreams," she says, like it's obvious.

"Oh," James croaks. His throat feels a little tight. "Sorry. Have you-have I been waking you up?"

He's been having nightmares every night. Has been, ever since he got away from Hydra. He wakes up sweaty and shaking from half-remembered horrors, and spends the rest of the night lying awake. Sleep is overrated, anyway.

"No," Luna reassures him, "you didn't wake me. I can See them."

There's a special emphasis on the word 'see', and it sends a trickle of fear down his back.

"Are you in my head?" He asks, more roughly than he intends. He's not afraid of Luna, or of Luna, specifically, being in his head, it's just the thought, in general, of people poking around in there that has his hackles rising.

"No!" she cries, eyes wide, "No," she repeats, more gently. He relaxes.

"I come from a long line of people we call Seers," she explains, her eyes going a bit distant. "There are many prophecies in the Department of Mysteries made by Lovegoods."

"So, what? They could see the future, and shit?"

Luna nods. "And shit," she agrees. "It's faded out a bit, though. It's been several generations since a Lovegood prophesied."

She falls silent, and it's quiet for a minute. James doesn't really know what to say, and just waits for her to continue.

"I can't really See," she says, finally. "But sometimes… I can hear things, that nobody else can."

"Huh," says James, thinking that a lot of things about her make a lot more sense, and then he teases her, "Y'know, people might think you're goin' crazy if you tell 'em you're hearin' things."

Luna giggles, and it makes his lips twitch, of their own volition, into a smile. "It's a bit late for that. Some people in school called me 'Loony' Lovegood."

She doesn't seem to be bothered by it, but it irritates him.

"That's mean," he mutters, but he's not sure whether she hears him. She jumps up from her seat, and twirls over to sit next to him, cross-legged on the cushions.

"May I?" She asks, and holds out her hand for his. His metal arm is closer, but he gives her his flesh-and-blood one instead, crossing it over his body to reach her.

Luna carefully ties the bracelet around his wrist, fingers feathering gently against his skin. The sensation feels nice, and he's not used to nice.

When she's done, he realizes he's been holding his breath, and he lets it out all at once, in a long huff. Luna pats his hand. The bracelet has a good weight against his skin, and the stone is warm. It feels like he's always worn it.

Luna's smiling up at him fondly, and he's suddenly struck by how much she's done for him. He's nobody to her, a complete stranger. He doesn't deserve even a fraction of the kindness she's given him.

"Why?" James asks, because he's feeling masochistic. If this is all going to end badly, he'd rather it end sooner than later. "Why're you even bothering?"

Luna props her chin in one hand, and searches his face.

"I've been in a war," she says, and James looks at her in shock. There's no way, he thinks, she's far too young. She smiles briefly, sadly. "Many of us that fought were only children," she admits. "I don't think we were wrong, but… well, some didn't have a choice."

She pauses, pursing her lips in frustration at whatever she's remembering. It's strange to see her upset, and James wants to wipe it away. She glances at the red star on his shoulder, lingering there for a moment, and then meets his eyes.

"You deserve to have a choice, James."


	3. I had flashes (you saw the plan)

A/N: Well, this chapter just kept asking to be longer and longer, and who am I to say no to that? Also, James gets to make a new friend this chapter! Yay!

* * *

James spends a long time thinking, after what Luna tells him. He vacillates between anger and hope, and to be honest, he's still not sure he understands.

He tells Luna that, and she shrugs, and says, ambiguously, "When you find out what a foice is, you can tell us what your choice is."

That makes more sense to him, for some reason, than anything else.

It's been almost a month since Luna plucked him up off the street. He still has nightmares, but they're not so bad, anymore. He can fall back asleep afterwards.

His memories are returning in unhelpful little blips, mostly about the blond man - Steve, he used to call him Steve - only he remembers him little, and frail. From what he can tell, he cared a lot about the man who called him Bucky. There's lots of things hidden in the fog of his brain, but he's glad to have something.

James has a flash of guilt about leaving him on the riverbank, but Steve had wanted Bucky, and he doesn't feel like Bucky yet. He's not sure he ever will.

Luna has no expectations about who he should be; she only cares that he is himself. He's James now, and it's good.

He goes out with Luna now, every time, even if it's somewhere crowded, although it makes him antsy.

He's been an assassin for seventy years (his brain knows it even if he can't remember much of it), and the crowds don't freak him out so much as the staring. If he was by himself, he'd be invisible, but he's always with Luna, and she's… the opposite of invisible.

It's just that people like to stare at people who are different, and she's definitely different. In a very good way, James thinks, but there's no accounting for taste.

Most of the time her outings don't seem to have any particular purpose, although there's a park she likes to frequent, and people-watch at. She points out people sometimes and tells him things about them. He's never sure if they're real or imagined. Once, she approaches a lady feeding some ducks and gives her a leaf. The lady is understandably confused, and so is James, but when he asks, Luna just looks at him serenely and says, "It felt important."

That's the most explanation he can expect, really. He finds magic fascinating, but he's given up trying to apply any sort of logic to it. It makes more sense in the abstract.

It's freezing outside today, but he's managed to get one sweater and some lumpy, colorful, crocheted socks on Luna for warmth, so maybe she won't lose her appendages. (It's a work in progress.) He follows Luna as she delves into a series of alleys, each one darker and grimier than the last. He's about to ask if she has a destination in mind, when she stops beside a dumpster.

It takes him a minute, because it looks different in the daylight, but he recognizes the dumpster as the one Luna found him by.

"Why are we here?" he asks, brows furrowing. She hums thoughtfully, and bounces on her toes. He gets the feeling she didn't really plan this.

"I want someone to look in your mind," Luna says. James stiffens.

"Not you?"

"No," she says, looking at him intently, "A very good friend of mine."

He's not as opposed as he was a month ago, especially if it's someone Luna trusts, but it's still a sensitive subject.

"Tell me more," he demands, and she brightens up, like he's already told her yes. He hasn't said no yet, so, in a way, he has.

"She went to school with me," Luna says. "She hid her parents by wiping their minds, and then after the war, she brought them back."

"She… her own parents? Why?"

"They're muggles," she explains. "It's awful, but she was trying to protect them, the best way she knew. And she's the only person to have successfully reversed an obliviation."

"You think," James says, kicking gently at a discarded fast food wrapper. "You think that someone put a spell on my head?"

"Yes. More than once," Luna says quietly.

"And she-your friend-she's the best bet?" His mouth is dry.

Luna nods.

"You trust her?"

"Yes."

"… Okay."

* * *

Luna's friend is called Hermione, and she comes over a week later, so James has a lot of time to both ready himself and build his anxiety in equal amounts.

Hermione enters via the fireplace. (James doesn't know how Luna got a wood-burning fireplace in an apartment, but the answer is obviously some kind of magic, so he doesn't ask.) Luna sits next to him on the sofa, holding his hand. The flames blaze green, and then there's a person standing there.

"Hello, Luna!" says Hermione. Her appearance is a complete contrast to Luna; her outfit is the epitome of professional and put-together, except for a few frizzy, curly strands of hair that have escaped her tight bun. James thinks he prefers Luna's quirky style.

Luna says something in greeting to her friend that James misses, and then squeezes his hand.

"This is James, Hermione."

Hermione smiles at him, and starts to lift her hand, and then abruptly stops. Her smile is replaced by shock. James shifts nervously.

"Luna, you-do you know who this is?"

"James," Luna replies, obtusely. She's gently stroking James' palm, which is the only thing keeping him from bolting out the front door.

"James Buchanan Barnes," their visitor insists. "The Winter Soldier, Luna. He's an assassin; people are searching for him."

James is glad Luna isn't holding his metal hand, because it's clenched in a tight fist, and he would've crushed all her fingers by now. He's panicking; he's been recognized. It's useless to run-this is a witch, after all. He can see her wand in her hand already.

"Oh, that. Yes, I know," Luna agrees, and some of his panic is lost in surprise. He hadn't realized she knew who he was. Hermione doesn't appear to be reassured by this.

"And you're hiding him in your home?"

"Hermione," Luna says calmly, "Remember what I wrote you about?"

The two witches lock gazes for a moment, and then Hermione relaxes a little.

"That would change things," she says. "You're sure?"

"Sure as Blibbering Humdingers," Luna assures her, and Hermione snorts, but seems to believe her, because she turns to him, assessingly, and James automatically sits up straighter.

She takes a seat in the high-backed chair across from him. She doesn't look scared of him, which he supposes is good. He'd be worried if the person about to look in his head was terrified of him.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asks him. Luna's still tracing patterns on his palm, so he takes a breath, and lets it out.

"Yeah."

"Alright," she says, meeting his eyes firmly. "This is going to feel strange. Just try to relax."

James nods, and without breaking eye contact, Hermione lifts her wand and says, "Legilimens."

She's not wrong. It is very strange. He can feel her, in his mind, poking around. The sensation isn't totally unfamiliar; someone must have done this to him before, but he thinks it hurt.

He can tell Hermione is doing her best to be gentle as she rifles through his brain. James gets flashes as she touches on various memories. Most of them don't make any sense, out of context, but he sees a few more of Steve, and some other people he still can't put a name to, but there's a vague feeling of recognition.

Many of his memories, however, cause a sharp pain, like a stabbing migraine, when Hermione pokes at them. They don't just hurt him, though; he can see her wince as it happens.

They've been going at it maybe ten minutes, although it feels much longer, when Hermione taps a memory, and it doesn't just hurt, it also releases the entire thing.

Suddenly, he's reliving being brought back in from a mission.

He's not compliant. He's fighting his handlers, and they're trying to manhandle him into the chair. He's wild, confused. He's shouting, he knew them, the people he'd just killed. What was the man's name? He knew him. They were friends, once, and he'd just-he'd killed them. Blew the tires out of the car, and just-what was his name? He can't remember, but he knows-

They get him in the chair. Everything explodes into pain. He forgets it all in the haze.

The Asset is ready to comply.

James comes back to himself with a jolt. His eyes land on Luna. She's holding his face in her hands. He's breathing fast, and sweating.

"You're safe, James," she whispers.

"I killed them," he croaks, and breaks away from her hold. "He was my friend," he tells them. "I didn't remember, until… after. They made me forget."

His eyes are tearing up, and his flesh hand is trembling. Luna doesn't say anything, just tightens her grip on his shoulder.

His metal hand has dug into the arm of the sofa. He tries to extract it carefully, but the sofa is destroyed.

"Sorry," he mutters, but Hermione, who looks a little pale, raises her wand silently, and points it at the sofa arm. James watches it reassemble itself, like nothing had ever happened, and he wishes, not for the first time, that a little magic could solve everything.

"James," Hermione says tentatively. He glances at her cautiously. "I have some good news, and some bad news. Which would you like to hear first?"

The fact that there is any good news at all surprises him a little. He's been kinda resigned to his life being just overall shitty. Some good news would be absolutely fantastic. But all the same…

"Bad," he tells her.

* * *

House points if you found the Dr. Seuss quote ;)

Every time you review, James gets a hug!


	4. I was dumbfounded (you cut through lies)

A/N: Thank you for all your reviews! You are all so sweet and encouraging, and they always make my day :)

Guys, I have been so excited to write this chapter, and it made my sister squeal with delight, so I think you'll all like it!

* * *

"The bad news," Hermione says, matter-of-factly, "is that the trigger words that tie you to the will of whomever speaks them, are actually part of a complex variation of the Imperius Curse, and I don't know how to untangle it."

The Imperius Curse, he gathers from the very long-winded and technical explanation that follows, is basically mind control, but somehow, Hydra must have found a Dark wizard (or witch, Hermione allows, generously) to craft a version of the curse that could be activated by recitation of specific words in a specific order.

There are very distinct marks left behind by the Imperius, she says, a bit distantly, and James doesn't ask how she knows that, because it's clear that it's personal, but he remembers what Luna said, about the war in the wizarding world, and he shivers.

He's also been Obliviated several times, Hermione continues, and she thinks that the chair they'd put him in had some kind of spell on it that had allowed it to mask his memories, too.

"There's no muggle machine I know of that can remove memories like that," she says. "Quite a lot of magic has gone through your head. I'm surprised your brain isn't a vegetable."

James isn't totally convinced it isn't already a vegetable.

The good news, once Hermione finally gets around to it after all that, is that she can help him regain some of the memories that had been wiped.

Not all of them, however, she is careful to specify. He can't get everything back, she explains, because obliviation always leaves irreparable scars.

Maybe it's odd, but James is okay with that. Anything is better than what he's got right now. And if he can't get everything back, well, maybe it's not such a bad thing. If his nightmares, and today's little foray into his brain are anything to go by, there's a lot of stuff that happened with Hydra that he really has no inclination to remember.

"And we'll need a Curse-breaker to take a look at you, too," Hermione is saying.

"Bill?" Luna asks, and Hermione agrees. James tenses at the mention of another person rooting around in his head, but Luna smiles encouragingly. "I think you'll like him, James."

And so that is that. He can't decide whether it is a good or a bad thing that he seems to give in so easily to whatever Luna says. He goes with good, for now.

Hermione and Luna are chatting, making plans. He hears something about Bill, and Africa, but he's not really listening.

He doesn't move from his spot on the couch, all at once feeling a bit out of place. He's in a bit of a daze. His head, overwhelmed by the invasion of his mind and everything else he'd learned, had started to pound at some point. He's not moving, but the world moves around him dizzily.

"James," Luna's voice filters into his awareness. "Breathe, James. You're alright." She's rubbing his arm, up and down. The contact gives him something to hold on to.

He breathes, in and out. Luna's eyes watch him, big with concern.

"Whenever you're ready," she murmurs softly. James slumps down, resting his head on the back of the sofa. Belatedly, he notices that Hermione has left. He pushes down the part of him that wants to berate himself for his lack of vigilance, and closes his eyes.

"I'm… afraid," he says slowly. "What if… I'm not-I don't know… who I was."

It isn't that he doesn't want his memories back, it was just that he's spent quite a bit of time without them now, and he's afraid he'll be different when he does get them.

"Oh, James," she says quietly. She links her fingers into his. "Who you were won't change who you've made yourself to be."

"How can you be sure?"

"You've worked too hard to get where you are," she says, simply. "Are you happy right now?"

It's an odd question. James looks up at the ceiling, eyes tracing swirls of paint, and thinks for a moment. "I… I think so."

"Well, then. There you are."

James stares at her. She makes it sound so easy.

Maybe it is.

* * *

A week and a half later, he and Luna hop in her fireplace, and emerge from the green flames into a huge, lavish room. They're somewhere called Wakanda, where they have the best, smartest wizards and scientists working together, and Bill, apparently, is one of those.

A red-haired man, who must be Bill, is there to greet them, along with Hermione, and a young girl that James doesn't recognize.

Luna skips forward and hugs Bill enthusiastically. He smiles, returning the hug, and James feels something, like a little twist, in his stomach, as he watches the display of affection. He's not sure why, and he forcefully shakes off the feeling as he steps forward to meet Bill.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but for whatever reason, the scars on the man's face make him feel a little more at ease about this. Maybe because the scars tell him he won't see any judgement from him. It's not just his face, though. Bill's clearly not some namby-pamby. He's soft-spoken, but his handshake is firm, and he barely even blinks at the metal arm.

(Hermione, however, is staring at it with an expression bordering on disbelief, probably because Luna gave it a paint job yesterday, covering every inch in bright colors, and tiny flowers. Luna did something with her wand, too, so the paint wasn't chipping off when the plates of the arm move. James loves it.)

Bill introduces the girl as Shuri, the princess of Wakanda. Despite the fact that she's not wearing a dress, Luna gives a graceful curtsy. James awkwardly attempts a bow.

"Oh, no, we don't do that here," Shuri laughs, not unkindly. "But may I say, I admire the detail work on your arm."

James has no idea what to do with the compliment.

"Thank you," Luna says, answering for him. James attempts a smile. Shuri dimples back at him, and he feels marginally successful.

"You should smile more often," Luna says, nudging him with her shoulder as they are being led down the hall to their rooms. "It suits you."

He grins widely at Luna, because he wants to. She laughs delightedly, and it fills the hallway and his heart warmly.

He drinks it in until he can't take it anymore, and looks away. Bill's assessing eye catches his as he does, and James feels like he's been caught red-handed. What he's been caught doing, he's not sure.

After a moment where James genuinely fears for his life, Bill's expression shifts into one of amusement, and he gives James a nod, before facing forward again.

He has no clue what exactly just happened, and likely would have spent the next hour wondering over it, but Luna chooses that moment to slide her fingers into his metal ones. At his startled glance, she smiles up at him serenely, and he forgets the odd interaction in favor of this new, happy feeling.

He smiles again.


	5. I sighed (you swooned)

A/N: Thanks to everyone that reviewed, fav'd, and followed! I'm happy so many other people ship Lucky (best ship name ever imho).

This took me a while to write, but I have good news! I am actually finished with the first draft of the rest of the story. Now my sister will descend like a dark angel of destruction wielding the red pen of death (her words), and then I can post the last two chapters of this! Yeah, you read right, there's only two more! (Having a hard time believing it over here, too.)

* * *

The room Bill will be removing the spell from his head in is small. It is also totally bare except for some very comfortable chairs, which seem out of place.

"Would you mind if I watched?" Shuri asks, bouncing in just as they have all taken a seat. She practically vibrates with excitement.

"I don't mind," he says, feeling the urge to smile at her. Shuri's eyes, for a moment - wide, brown, and full of spark - tug at him.

His sister, he vaguely recalls, his little sister was like this. But he can't remember her name, and he clenches a metal fist in frustration. He can't remember his own sister's name, but he has a clear flash of scrambling around the streets with her tagging along behind, insisting on following him everywhere. He always ended up carrying her home on his back, because her feet would get blisters. They could never afford good shoes, and she was always outgrowing the ones they could get.

He's almost smiling, until he remembers that she's probably gone now, too, and a sudden wave of grief and loneliness hits him. He looks, finds Luna already by his side, and tries not to make his exhale of relief too obvious.

She reaches out, brushing her fingers across his cheek momentarily, with that expression she gets sometimes, that makes her seem like something old and new, like she taught the stars how to dance, and knows the trill of every birdsong. It's something infinite and comforting, and nearly takes his breath away.

She pulls back, and the moment's broken, but he's ready now.

Bill explains everything he's going to do. It's a lot, but James does appreciate it, and Bill is particularly good at parsing the details. By the time he's done, James feels almost relaxed about this. Almost.

"Wait," he says, before they're about to start. "You should probably restrain me, or something." He gestures, mimicking a wand swishing.

"Why?" asks Bill, frowning.

"I, um… I destroyed the sofa last time, and that was only lookin' in my head."

"Only!" Hermione snorts. "It was a full memory-sweep, and he clenched his fist in it," she informs Bill, whose eyebrows shoot up.

"I don't think we need to worry about that," Bill reassures him. "This is actually less invasive, in comparison, and I would prefer you be able to tell me if something feels wrong."

James nods. He did suggest it, but the thought of being restrained was more stressful than he really wants to admit. It didn't exactly bring up good memories.

"All right then," Bill says, rolling up his sleeves. "Shuri, the wards, please."

Shuri flicks a finger at the walls, and they take on a slight blue glow.

"Just in case of backlash," Shuri says, at his curious glance.

"Ready?" Bill asks him. "And remember, if you ever need to, we can stop."

James doesn't think it's likely he'll ask the man to stop for anything, but he takes a deep breath.

"Yeah."

"Excellent. Let's see what we've got."

Bill's wand traces through the air, and golden glowing symbols appear, stacking up on top of each other as he continues. Then with a gentle push, the symbols float forward, directly towards James' head. He holds very still, not even flinching as they hit his skin, and disappear.

Red lines of what must be the Imperius spell slowly appear, mostly around his head, but a few are also connected to his arm. He eyes them distrustfully.

Bill gets to work immediately. He pokes at some strands with his wand, loosens others, detangles a little knot of lines and inspects it closely, puts it back together carefully, and mutters weird Latin-ish magic things. James has no idea how, but an hour later, there's only one glowing line of magic left, going from his head to his metal shoulder. He's also pretty sure it's longer and thicker than all the others were. Bill lowers his wand and examines it carefully for a minute.

"This one is going to give us trouble," he tells James. "It will most likely hurt as I remove it, and… I'm pretty sure you won't be able to use this arm anymore. Too much of your motor control is tied to the spell."

"That's okay," he says, quickly. "I can handle pain."

He purposefully ignores the second part. It won't be fun, not having two arms, but he doesn't really trust the metal one all that much. He's got no idea what went into it, or if _they_ could somehow still control it. He'll be better off without it.

"Alright then," Bill says, and he doesn't hesitate, severing the final cord with a quick sketch of his wand. James gasps in pain, not only from the weirdly painful sensation of his entire arm abruptly vanishing from his senses, but also because there's an explosion in his head.

He feels the arm flopping to the side, dragging his limp body with it over the side of the chair, but it's a peripheral sensation. Memory floods his brain, everything the chair had ever erased all at once. None of it is good.

.

 _Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8_

 _Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 3-2-5-_

 _Sergeant James Buchanan-_

 _Sergeant-_

 _._

 _Lightning racing through his head._

 _Soldat?_

 _Ready to comply._

 _._

 _The target is centered in his scope. He shoots; blood spatters. There's not even a sound._

 _._

 _Put him back in cryo._

 _._

 _He'll do anything we tell him._

 _Anything?_

 _Yes._

 _._

 _He drags his knife across a throat. The target gargles his own blood._

 _._

 _He snaps a neck with his metal hand._

 _._

 _He's always cold. Warmth is not a luxury he is allowed._

 _._

 _The man is down on one knee, small box uplifted. He squeezes the trigger. The man's fiancée of two seconds shrieks. He dismantles his rifle without pause._

 _._

 _Your mission, Soldat._

 _A thousand bullets. None miss._

 _._

 _He shapes little girls into weapons almost as powerful as himself._

 _._

 _Lightning blasts away emotions. He wakes cold._

 _The garrote is a fine necklace against the pale skin of a slim neck._

 _._

 _He waits for days behind his scope utterly still._

 _._

 _Red hair. Natalia. He remembers. He runs with her, fights._

 _He forgets. The lightning stabs his brain._

 _._

 _Ready to comply._

 _._

He gasps quietly, eyes unfocused, trying to stop it, but he has no control - pain, torture, numbness, cold - it's everything all at once, and it burns in his head.

Somewhere, in the background, beyond what's playing out in his head, people are murmuring over him.

A gentle hand rests on his shoulder, and whispers in his ear, _sleep_.

He takes the invitation, gladly succumbing to oblivion.

* * *

Uhhhh... I promise I'll fix it?


	6. I wondered, guessed, tried (you knew)

A/N: This is kinda the end of the story (epilogue to follow within the week), and it was a very emotional time writing this chapter. Feel free to cry at any point; I cried a little myself while I was writing it. I give you all the Lucky feels, all of them!

Guest: Yes, it's the most perfect ship name ever! I'm a little sad about it ending, too, but I do plan to write other things with Lucky, so it's not goodbye forever! :)

* * *

James awakens slowly. His head doesn't hurt anymore, and he wonders what they gave him to make him sleep. He knows he wasn't out long, but he slept well, and didn't dream, which surprises him, because the memories released by the spell breaking were, for the most part, not pleasant. The few that were… there was a girl, a red girl, a black room. He thinks they were friends, maybe.

He doesn't really want to drag up everything all over again though, so he pushes back the rising images and opens his eyes.

Shuri is sitting directly in his line of sight, and he squeezes his eyes once, to make sure he's not seeing things. He's lying on a flat surface, in a room that's almost overwhelmingly futuristic. She's got some kind of holographic screens up, and doesn't even notice he's awake, busy tapping away at lines and lines of numbers and symbols.

He watches her for a minute, working smoothly and efficiently, and then clears his throat. To her credit, she doesn't jump, but swivels her seat around with a wide smile.

"Ah! I am glad you are awake," she says. "We were worried."

"Sorry," Hermione's voice comes from somewhere behind his head; she's out of range of his vision. "We didn't anticipate such a big reaction. The spell was more interconnected than we expected."

"S'alright," James says, and tries to sit up, to face her. He immediately fails, because there's an inanimate hunk of metal attached to his shoulder, and flops back with a huff. Shuri's eyes dance at him, and he gives her a half-hearted glare that only has the effect of making her laugh.

Since sitting up clearly won't work, he tilts his head back to see Hermione, and Bill standing there.

"I was hoping I was wrong about your arm," Bill says sympathetically.

"I'll manage," James reassures him, but he is a little sad for Luna's arm paint-job. "Think you could get this thing offa me?"

"Well, I'll have to if I want to put the new one on you, won't I?" Shuri says.

James thought he was done being surprised by people. He opens and closes his mouth.

"You… would do that?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Shuri scoffs. "Of course I will. It will be fun," she says, eyes dancing with anticipation. "A little something to challenge me." With a swish of her hand, the holographic screen changes to something completely different. It's a rough schematic for an arm.

"You'll have to stay here for testing and calibration," Shuri continues. "Don't worry, we'll put you somewhere relaxing. There's a goat farm or two that could use one extra hand." She winks at him and turns back to her holo-screen.

One hand, haha, he thinks. Very funny. He's about to ask if she's really serious about the goat farm, because he's pretty sure that's a terrible idea, he has exactly zero experience with animals, except for killing rats and throwing rocks at mangy dogs – and hey, he hadn't remembered that before, that's new – and then Luna comes in, and he promptly forgets about the goat farm.

"James," she says brightly, skipping over to him. "Chocolate?"

He accepts the already-unwrapped bar from Luna, breaks off a chunk in his mouth, and nearly moans with happiness as it melts in his mouth.

"S'this magic chocolate?" He asks around another bite.

"All chocolate is magic," Luna tells him, solemnly. It makes perfect sense to him, although he hears Hermione smacking her forehead, Bill chuckling, and Shuri giggling. Luna smiles one of her warm glowy smiles, and he feels like he's found home.

* * *

"Are you staying?" He asks Luna, later, as Shuri is seeing Bill and Hermione out. He's sitting up, carefully, on the edge of the table. He's less one arm now, so he keeps having to readjust for the absence of weight there. He doesn't recognize the expression on her face for a beat; it's so unfamiliar a thing. She looks… uncertain.

"Do you want me to?" Luna asks him, quietly. James feels his heart ready to pound out of his chest. He tries to swallow past the sudden constriction in his throat.

"Yeah, yeah, I – more'n anything," he tells her, and his voice sounds funny, and there's something in his eyes that's making them teary, or maybe it's just because he hadn't even thought that she might not stay until right this second, and he hates that thought with every fiber of his being. And Luna hasn't spoken yet, so he doesn't know if she'll stay or if she'll go, and this weird feeling is building in his chest, and he knows if she goes it'll hurt deeper than the lightning from the chair ever did. It's not stopping, and he wonders if maybe this is-

"Yes," Luna breathes, moving closer, and resting her hand on his knee. James didn't know it was possible for people to glow with happiness, but she is, and he feels like he might be, too.

"Yeah?" He asks, even though he doesn't need to, even though he's smiling so wide his face will probably break. He just wants to hear her say it again.

"I've always dreamed of living on a goat farm with you, you know," she tells him.

(He has no idea if she means it literally, but he doesn't really care to ask while he's kissing her.)


	7. there in the turnstiles

A/N: This is the end of this story, but Lucky will be back in the future! I'm planning on starting Steve's story next, and I'm super excited about it. My sister's on board for it, too, so you know it'll be good. I _might_ also be currently writing a 4+1 fic featuring James and Luna's time as goat herders. (Goats are surprisingly sassy, y'all.)

If you didn't already know, this is all a part of my Phil Coulson is a Squib 'verse, so if you go to my profile, there's more in this series! (I'm also on Ao3, so if you want to find me there, it's easier to follow the series as a whole.)

You've all been the greatest readers an author can ask for, so thank you!

* * *

James pauses, just before the door, and stares at it.

It's been months. He has a shiny new arm, and multiple visits with Hermione have brought back as much of his memory as they could get. He's more himself than he's been in decades, and still he hesitates.

A slim hand steals into the crook of his elbow. He turns his head and smiles at Luna. She bounces up on her toes for a second, leaving a brush of a kiss on his lips.

"There's nothing to be worried about," she says.

"Yeah, you're right," he says, and pushes the door open.

In the room on the other side, a blond man, and a red-haired woman rise from the sofa. The woman gives no reaction. The man's blue eyes widen.

"Bucky?"

"Heya, punk," says James. "It's not the end of the line yet."

"You jerk," Steve chokes out, and then James has got arms full of a super-soldier, and they're both pretending they're not crying. When they finally break apart, he glances at the woman.

"Natalia?"

"Yasha," Natalia says, with the tiniest hint of a familiar smile. He's glad to see her, the only person who was ever the Winter Soldier's friend, however short-lived his freedom was then.

"How much do you remember?" Steve asks, with a sort of fearful hope.

"A lot," James tells him. "Too much. Too little." Natalia looks like she understands.

"Well, you remembered enough to get a dame on your arm," Steve smirks, nodding at Luna, who's been sort of staring off into space above their heads. She does that a lot, and James is never sure if she's seeing anything important up there, so he doesn't usually interrupt.

"Oh," she says, as if she's just realized there are people other than James in the room. (It's very possible.) "Hello. I'm Luna."

"Luna? Luna Lovegood?" Steve asks, with blatant surprise in his tone.

"Yes, that's right," she says airily. Steve stares at her.

"Sorry," Steve says, finally seeming to notice James's attempt to put daggers in him with his eyes. "I've just heard a lot about you." He ducks his head a little, attempting (and failing) to hide a blush that James sees immediately.

"Did she mention me? How lovely," Luna says, smiling widely at Steve, who looks lost for words. James can't blame him, she does that to him frequently, but he also can't help but notice…

"Finally figured out how to talk to a gal, huh, Stevie?"

Steve blushes harder, and Natalia rolls her eyes. It's good to know some things never change.

"Well, she must be a real spitfire," James drawls, with a grin, relishing in how easy it is to fall right back into teasing his best friend. But he knows Steve didn't just come to catch up. "Now, what've you got yourself tangled up in this time, punk?"

Steve lets out a long breath, and the air grows serious.

"You up to help save the universe?"


End file.
